


rebuilt from ashes

by civillove



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, canon complaint, prompt-a-thon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: (#69) Rio witnesses Beth have a really bad panic attack after a fire fight. Set after Beth shot Rio. (part of the prompt-a-thon list from @goodgirlsficrecs on tumblr)
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	rebuilt from ashes

**Author's Note:**

> early season 3, after the pregnancy mishap, canon divergence, probably more plot than you wanted.

Beth’s been here before and that fact should be comforting but nothing rarely is as it seems anymore. On the one hand, she’s satisfied that her and Rio have come to an understanding—neither of them are actively trying to kill the other. Yet, at the same time, their conversation and demeanor towards one another is uncomfortably icy to say the least. She remembers when their conversations and body language was fluid, magnetic, a sense of partnership that she doesn’t think they’ll ever get back.

But she doesn’t know how they can _be_ anything else other than former shells of who they once were, not after three bullets that feel like thirty pieces of silver in her hands.

Beth just has to take what she can get and at least, this way, their business can continue and she can keep living her life pretending it never happened even though Rio doesn’t let her forget. It’s in his eyes; there’s no more softness when he looks at her, no admiration, no broken walls. Only hardened gazes, a brief sense of hesitation, reinforced steel in keeping her at an arm’s length.

They’ve unwound any sense of building an honest connection with one another and some bridges can’t be rebuilt from ashes.

He doesn’t trust her and maybe he never really did, which is fine because he’s not exactly high on the list of people Beth trusts either—but it _does_ make doing their work a little more difficult. The only strand of string tying them together is the concept of a promise not to fuck one another _or_ with eachother and she doesn’t believe that it’s not going to snap in two one day. So she just tries to take one step at a time, remember why she’s doing this, why she’s working with him in the first place.

Because at the end of the day, he still has so much to teach her, despite the fact that she tried to hijack the lesson plans on her own. The only thing she can do is keep pressing forward, to learn from him to better herself—and maybe one day she won’t need him.

Beth crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against the back of his car while he rifles through the trunk, trying to find what they need for this meeting. She bites her tongue on saying he should clean it out at some point; there’s duffle bags, some sweatshirts that look worse for wear and odds and ends of sports that Marcus is interested in—soccer shoes, baseball gloves and uniforms. The display _almost_ makes her smile because she’s seen the inside of his loft before, ran her fingers along his folded shirts and dragged her hand on ironed button downs; Rio is usually so much more organized than this. The fact that his trunk is a mess must be driving him crazy.

She looks away towards the warehouse they’re about to go into, remembering the last time she went through those doors with him.

_“I told you that the meeting would be just fine if you offered him an extra 5k.” Beth tries not to brag but the amusement is clear in the tone of her voice. “It’s an obvious business model.”_

_Rio rolls his eyes as they walk to the car, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, “I don’t need someone braggin’ about what type of work I do. This ain’t a café, we’re not sellin’ a latte special.”_

_She smiles as she turns to look at him, “Oh but we_ could. _What about scooping up a café for our next front? I could bake pastries while you printed money in the back. Much better deal than a car dealership.”_

_“You know you’re not the only one who knows how to make somethin’ right? I handle Marcus’ bake sales all on my own.” He points out, which just makes her grin. “You just wanna show off that you can bake and handle business at the same time.”_

_When they reach the car, Beth leans against the driver’s door, preventing him from opening it. She shrugs her shoulders, “I’m just playing off my strengths.”_

_Rio hums, rocking back on his heels a moment before his hands grasp onto her waist. He pulls her forward and into his body, the solid heat of him slipping into the pores of her skin, becoming a part of her._

_“I think I’d like to talk about other strengths that you have,” He smiles, leaning down so that his lips brush against hers, “Partner.”_

Sometimes she misses the way he used to speak to her, the tactile press of his fingers against her arms, hips or back, touching for the sake of touching. Rio uses his hands when other people use their words, she’s never met anyone like him—he says so much without wrapping his tongue around syllables. There’s a violence to him that she’s always known was there but now it’s in the way he speaks to her, barely constrained anger and frustration so physical that she can almost reach out and touch it.

Beth doesn’t often wish for things to go backwards because everything happens for a reason, the tension between them is as much her fault as it is his. But she _wishes_ for the days he didn’t look at her like she’s made out of ice; wishes for the days where she could reach out and touch him and run her thumb over the wingspan of his bird tattoo.

Rio pulls a black duffle bag out of the trunk and turns to hand her a gun, their fingers barely brushing.

But as it turns out, wishes of course, are for children.

Beth swallows as the cold, heavy metal settles against the palms of her hands, a nervous itch beginning at the bottom of her ribcage. She hasn’t really handled a gun since…

She glances up at Rio who’s busy checking his own weapon, always an extension of himself, before sliding it into the waistband of his jeans. She clears her throat, running her thumb over barrel, gently, as if it might bite her if she handles it the wrong way. When he closes the trunk, putting the bag of cash over his shoulder, he lowers her gun out of his direction with two fingers.

It startles her more than it should and he almost looks amused when he says, “Flick the safety on ma, we’ve been here before.”

A flush kisses her cheeks and the back of her neck even though she rolls her eyes as she does what he says, pulling the magazine to check the bullets out of habit. “I thought you said this meeting would be quick and easy.”

Rio shrugs his one shoulder, motioning for them to start walking, “It should be.”

“Then why do we need these?” She lifts the gun up slightly as if to prove her point.

He lets out a slow breath but she can tell by the way that muscle in his jaw is working that she’s teetering on the edge of his patience, “Because shit happens.” Rio tilts his head to look at her, pausing just before they go in, “I feel like I don’t need to explain to you that we’re not the only interested party when it comes to cash and drugs.”

Beth understands that, she does, but it’s been a minute since her and Rio trusted one another enough to handle a meeting together. It’s felt like _ages_ since she’s held another gun in her hands and she’d be naïve to ignore its effect on her.

“There are dangerous people out there, rival gangs,” He continues, smiling something careful with too much teeth and malice, “Or don’t you know that from tryin’ to run a business all on your own?”

Words suddenly get trapped underneath her throat because she _wants_ to stand up for herself, argue with him that on some level she knows what she’s doing despite their history, that she can handle whatever is thrown her way because she _can._ If her life with Dean and Rio as separate entities has proven anything to her, it’s the fact that she endures. But the way he’s looking at her reminds her too much of being back in that loft, in the darkness, Turner struggling nearby and the taste of blood in her mouth.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget the sounds Rio made when she shot him.

Rio’s hand covers her own, gently guiding her to slide the gun into her coat pocket. He holds her gaze for a long moment, his fingers moving to curl her hair behind her ear, “I’d ask if you needed target practice but I don’t think you do—can always work on your aim later.”

He pulls away from her and yanks the warehouse door open, letting her walk through the large doorway first. Rio might not be using bullets but his words have always had the ability to shoot right through her, leaving behind bloody muscle and jagged chasms in their wake.

\--

The warehouse is just as she remembers, cold and dank, incredibly massive to the point where it feels like it might swallow her whole when she stands in the center of it. She’s not sure if this place is actually used to house anything useful or if it’s truly as abandoned as it seems. There are a variety of different sized boxes strewn about the concrete floor, creating a cityscape outline against the walls. Broken desks, chairs, metal, and dirt strewn about the space; not one thing has altered since the last time she’s stood here.

This place has remained unchanged despite how different the occupants are.

The meeting, as far as she can tell, is going fine. Rio greets their buyer like an old friend and talks in comfortable Spanish, pausing a few times to go over in English with her what’s being discussed. She’s surprised he’s making the effort at being cordial at all because he could easily leave her in an air of dusted confusion instead of helping her see how ends meet. She doesn’t know Spanish too well, just some key phrases that she’s heard Rio say before in meetings that she tends to pair with his body language to figure out what’s going on.

Beth watches carefully, the effortless lines of Rio’s shoulders, the smile that feels almost genuine when he talks. He’s comfortable with this guy, Antonio, and the trade of bags is made easily. The buyer opens up the black duffle and skims his long fingers over the cash like it’s a work of art and Beth supposes it is, in a way—sometimes she feels like the counterfeits she creates are like paintings or sculptures being built with her hands.

Antonio looks up at them and nods in approval, his eyes gazing over Beth’s form with a smirk tugging the ends of his mouth. He looks to Rio, amusement dancing in his handsome brown eyes, “ _Solo negocios_?”

Rio clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth but doesn’t bother with a reply on that front, whatever he’s said about her, “Until next time, Antonio.”

She’s been through this before and yet it always seems to catch her by surprise; the sound of gunfire, the chaos, her knees hitting concrete and the palms of her hands pinching from dirt and rocks. Rio grabs her by the back of her coat and _drags_ until they’re behind a set of boxes and it takes her so much longer than she cares to admit to realize that they’re in a fire fight.

Someone’s come in the opposite way and started shooting. Maybe a rival gang like Rio’s mentioned when this whole thing started, maybe something he expected but didn’t actually tell her, instead under the guise of ‘just in case’ when he handed her that gun. She peeks out from behind a box, her mouth falling open as she sees Antonio on the floor, eyes wide and chest covered in red, blood pooling his body like blooming flowers. She feels herself being yanked back, out of a line of sight, Rio speaking to her but his words are heavy and filling her ears with cotton.

She’s been here before and yet everything feels foreign, alien. Like she’s still that doe-eyed housewife that laid out Dean’s ties on the bed for him before he went to work and wore an apron when she baked for the sake of him saying she looked cute. Like a perfect wife.

He reaches into the pocket of her coat so haphazardly that she’s pretty sure she feels the fabric rip and forces the gun into her hands, flipping the safety off. He says something that sounds a lot like _just like we practiced_ but she can’t be sure if she’s making it up or not, anxiety filtering through her bloodstream like molten lava as she raises the gun and fires around the barrier keeping them hidden.

Beth will think about this later, when she’s managed to hit two of the guys coming into the warehouse—one in the shoulder and the other in the chest, that her aim isn’t _actually_ that terrible. That maybe it has to do with meaning it, with wanting the bullets to go a certain way—that maybe she never intended to kill Rio when she shot him. That night is like a living nightmare, even now, mascara running down her cheeks and her hand shaking as she fires three bullets through the darkened loft hoping that they hit a target.

Maybe if she meant it, he’d be dead.

Rio reaches for her suddenly as he stands, firing off another shot with his golden gun that glints like melted honey underneath the warehouse lights. She never thought there’d be a moment where she’d willingly take his hand again but she does, allowing him to tug her into a run out of the warehouse as bullets fly after them. The metal of his rings dig into her skin but the feeling is somehow comforting, reminding her that if he can survive, so can she. She waits for impact, for the singeing pain of metal burrowing itself into her muscle, her bone, but it never comes.

He gets them out of there and to his car without being shot.

She practically dives into the passenger seat and the moment her door is closed, the tires skid against the pavement as Rio slams his foot on the gas. It doesn’t feel like they’re going anywhere for a few long moments, the blur of houses in the night flickering past her like twinkling Christmas lights.

The car is achingly quiet in a way she should suspect, the sound of their mingled breathing and the engine running the only things keeping them company. Rio eventually pulls the car over on a side street near a motel that she’s been in before, a safe room that he keeps rented out in case he needs somewhere to go to lay low. He pulls his keys out of the ignition and hits his hands off the steering wheel, the only show of emotion that he’s upset from the fire fight. There’s nothing else, his face a blank canvas, body an even set of long lines.

How is he always so calm? She wants to ask if he expected this, if he _knew_ it was going to happen and didn’t tell her. She wants to know how he feels about Antonio being shot, if he was someone he knew for a long time or if it all whittles down to being about business, something he can sweep under the rug in order to keep going.

It’s not so simple for her.

He turns his head a little, she must be making a noise he doesn’t like because the space between his eyebrows pinch together. One of his hands moves off the steering wheel to—touch her, maybe? she’s not sure but she quickly pulls back and opens the car door, getting out into the night air. The chill kisses her skin, attempting to shock her into the present, a ragged _gasp_ strangling her windpipe because oh, _that’s_ what’s going on.

She can’t breathe.

Beth feels herself bend at the waist, one of her hands on her knee keeping her upright as dizziness threatens to knock her down onto the grass. She doesn’t see Rio come around the car but she senses that he’s there, his hand like the touch of lightening against her back. She wretches away from him, trying to speak but the words won’t come.

“Elizabeth,” He says calmly, “Give me your gun.”

Her palm aches now that he’s drawing attention to it but she’s not sure whether that’s from the numb kickback of firing her weapon or because she’s clutching at the grip so tightly. She didn’t even realize she was still holding her gun in her hand, like she needs to be ready to use it.

Rio reaches for it carefully, his fingers soothingly warm against her own as he helps her release her vice-like hold on the weapon. “That’s it,” And his voice is gentler than she expects or maybe it’s her mind playing tricks on her as he puts the gun into the backseat and underneath a black duffle.

The sound of gunfire is still pounding against her eardrums like the pulse in her throat and her hands come up to wind through her wild curls, tugging gently at the strands like it’ll stop. He’s close again even though she squeezes her eyes shut and can’t see him, she can feel him, nearly pressed against her body as she drags ragged oxygen into her lungs.

His hands cover hers, disentangling them from her hair, squeezing until she looks up at him. She sees faint echoes of the Rio she used to know, an intimate touch and a warm gaze that feels familiar enough to fall into.

“Breathe with me, it’s alright.” He takes one of her hands, placing it on his chest where his diaphragm is, so she can feel every intake and release of his breath.

Beth swallows thickly, a hiccupping noise leaving her throat as she tries, his hand not leaving hers until she relaxes. He nods a little, his thumb tracing her knuckles, licking his lips as he watches her.

Her eyes meet his and his gaze follows the soft lines of her face, drag across her lips and jawline like he’s doing it through touch before he lets her go. She misses the heat of his skin almost instantly.

“S’good,” Rio clears his throat, checking around them to make sure that they’re still alone. Beth straightens her back, her chest hurting with how difficult it feels to take in normal lungfuls of air.

Tension slithers between them like ivy, wrapping them both up, reminding one another of _who_ they are and the things they’ve done. He sticks one of his hands in his pockets, taking another step back from her and she can tell he’s chewing on the words in his mouth before he says them—as if he isn’t sure if he should.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve had to handle a fire fight.”

Beth opens and closes her mouth a moment, trying to process what he’s saying to her and _why._ There are hints of an emotion underlying his sentence, as if he’s disappointed with her reaction to a situation they’ve dealt with before in the past.

Why doesn’t he understand that this is _different?_

“I know,” She clears her throat so it doesn’t sound like she’s chewing on glass. “It’s just—”

He raises his eyebrows at her, expectant, waiting…and then, it suddenly dawns on him like someone flipping a light switch on. His expression instantly changes, a mixture of darkened amusement and too much bite when he says,

“Ah right, first time since you tried to kill me. Is that why this was so hard for you?” But he doesn’t sound compassionate or understanding and she supposes, why would he?

“Fuck you,” She snaps, all too sudden with venom that drips off her teeth but she can’t help it.

Rio has the audacity to look pleased, his hand falling to his chest, “Fuck _me?”_ He shakes his head, pursing his lips, “Nah, we tried that—didn’t exactly work out. Every time we have sex I get closer to dyin’.”

She shoves him against his chest and it’s really not rough enough to move him but Rio takes a dutiful step back, a harsh laugh emptying from his throat. Something cold settles against her spine, slipping in-between the knobs like a crowbar as she realizes that they’ve never really _done this,_ talked about what happened without threats being made. Even with coming to an understanding to work together again, there are still so many things left unspoken, floating between them, strings of words threatening to choke them at any given moment.

Beth shakes her head, running a hand over her face as she draws another breath into her lungs, trying to give herself a moment to think. “After all this time, I still don’t know what you expected me to do. How you thought that was going to end.”

Rio shrugs his one shoulder, attempting at nonchalance but Beth can see just beneath the mask as it starts to chip away on the sides. “What was I supposed to be impressed that you shot me?”

She wonders if it’s safe to have this conversation here; if they should go inside, if she should just go home. “I had no choice.” There’s no right answer here, not one that _feels_ acceptable on both sides. Beth isn’t even sure what feels real anymore, who she was that night, if she’s the same person now.

“You had _every_ choice.” Rio takes a step towards her, the words digging under her skin like small knives. And that mask finally slips free, emotion bleeding forward—she’s never seen him so angry before, that feeling of betrayal living under his skin like a cancer.

There are things that are too broken to be put back together and she wonders if they’re a part of that. Maybe this is something they’ll never be able to work through; burnt bridges crumbling under her touch and staining her skin with charcoal.

She holds his gaze for a long moment, trying to speak so that he’ll _understand,_ “I did what I had to,” She searches his eyes for something she recognizes, something to grab ahold of like an anchor, “I learned that from you.”

The muscle in Rio’s jaw twitches, a look she can’t quite describe mixed on his handsome features. He takes a step back from her, his fingers drawing up into the palm of his hand as he walks back around to the driver’s seat to grab the black duffle bag from the warehouse. He crosses the street and into the dilapidated hotel, not wondering if she’ll find her way to the same room.

The air seems to be sucked away from her like a gathering tornado as he leaves her side and she runs a hand over her face, turning to glance over her shoulder at where he’s gone.

Beth knows that, despite not wanting to, she’ll end up following him.

\--

The hotel room is mostly stocked with medical supplies just in case someone is injured and they can’t go to a hospital but she knows that within the cabinets of the kitchenette there’s bourbon and tea. Beth lays on a scratchy bedspread, staring at stains on the ceiling (trying very hard and failing to not wonder what they are) as Rio sits at a table nearby and cleans his gun.

He’s got his sweatshirt off, those block tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his t-shirt and staring her right in the face when she looks too long. She lets out a slow breath, happy for once that Dean’s got the kids tonight. It’s one less thing she has to worry about despite the fact that she’s stuck in this hotel room with someone who’d probably prefer shooting her than having an actual conversation.

Beth finally realizes that she’s not about to fall asleep any time soon and pulls herself from bed, wandering over to the kitchenette cabinets and yanking one open. She eyes the bourbon and even though a fingerful sounds like just what she needs, she wants to feel less wired, so a cup of green tea is what she’s going to settle for.

She frowns at a mug as she takes it out and inspects it a little longer than necessary, washing it briefly in the sink before heating up water in the microwave to steep the teabag.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter, glancing over at Rio who is putting his gun back together with practiced ease. She bites on the tip of her tongue, knowing she’s going to regret this but—

“Do you want tea?”

He looks up at her, as if he’s suddenly remembered she’s in the room with him before he shakes his head. “Nah,” He then stands to put his gun away in the black duffle he’s carried up with him, “Don’t go depleting my cabinets, that shits there for emergencies.”

She rolls her eyes, _so dramatic, “_ It’s one tea bag, I think you’ll survive.”

Beth tugs on the string and watches the transparency of the water change, light green blooming across the water until it fills the entire mug. Her fingers are shaking ever so slightly, leftover anxiety from the fire fight still not out of her system. She glances over her shoulder at Rio, who’s unzipping his jeans and tugging them off so he can sleep in a t-shirt and his briefs. She quickly diverts her gaze, rifling through the cabinets for sugar or honey or anything to make the tea a little sweeter.

“Above the fridge,” He mumbles, directing her to what he knows she’s looking for.

Beth’s hand wraps around a bottle of honey and she squeezes a sizeable amount in the cup, probably more than she needs but his comment about ‘depleting his stash’ forces her hand. She stirs it in and takes a long sip, letting out a sigh from her nose as she watches him sit on the corner of one of the beds.

She wraps her hands around the warmth of the mug of tea, her thumb playing with the string as she looks at him, “Do you think it’s always going to be like this?”

Rio takes a look at his phone, not responding to her for a moment as he types out a text—maybe something to Rhea, letting her know he’s not going to pick Marcus up tonight. He then sets it down on the comforter and drums his fingers against his knee,

“Like what?” Even though he knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“ _This,”_ She stresses, as if she’s able to put lengths of a conversation into a solitary word.

Rio holds her gaze for a long moment before he stands, tugging the bed sheets back to crawl underneath them. He lays on his side, propping himself up on his elbow to address her, eyes dragging over her like a wave crashing down onto her body. The water is ice cold.

“I think it’s only a matter of time.”

Beth takes another sip of her tea before she nods her head gently, watching him turn the little lamp off on the bedside table and lie down on his back. She attempts to feel satisfied with that answer, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she considers the string of words.

The double meaning scars her flesh like Rio’s bullet wounds—it’s only a matter of time until they either rebuild their bridges between them or before one of them tries to kill the other, for good.

\--

When they leave the motel the next day, Beth expects him to drive her home but they end up going a different direction. She doesn’t protest, just leans back into the seat and lets him take her wherever he intends to go. Part of her wonders if she should feel nervous because of the conversations they had last night, things still unclear with an overwhelming sense of impending dread.

They straddle on a very thin line together and it won’t take much to set them off balance.

He finally pulls the car over near a span of woods and gets out, waiting for him to join her before he pops the trunk. Beth takes her sweater off, feeling more comfortable in a loose t-shirt because the sun is bright and warm on her shoulders. She glances around, waiting for Rio to reveal what it is they’re doing in the middle of nowhere.

“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” She asks, pushing the boundaries of her luck.

He smirks, his smile a little more genuine than she’s used to as he takes out his golden gun. “Nah, not yet.” And lets that settle in the space between them before he closes the trunk. “We’re here to work on your aim.”

Rio offers her _his_ gun, something he’s never done before and she finds herself staring at it for almost too long. It looks like liquid hazel as it reflects in the sunlight and she carefully wraps her hand around it, the weight always surprising her as they walk into the woods. He takes off his hoodie, tying it around his waist as they work on finding the right spot, Rio pointing to a set of trees in the distance.

“You see the broken tree trunk?”

She frowns, squinting and he moves her before she has a chance to reply. His hands settle on her waist, gently guiding her to a spot that’s necessary, his arm pointing over her shoulder until she sees what he’s referring to.

“I want you to hit that tree three times.”

She licks her lips, “Only three?” She mumbles, his breath hot against the shell of her ear when he smirks.

“Seems like a good number for you.” He takes a step away from her to watch her stance, memories of them doing this before when he first taught her how to shoot hitting into her like waves crashing on a beach.

Beth takes in a stabilizing breath into her lungs, concentrating on the task before her. She’s never really been comfortable with handling a weapon before and it’s even _more_ true now, the idea that a gun could be an extension of her feels ridiculous to consider. She attempts it though, aiming towards the tree in the distance and fires two shots that reverberate in the woods around them.

She misses the first time but gets it the second.

Rio takes a step towards her and adjusts her hips, forcing his knee behind her one leg so she moves it forward to stand differently. “Make sure you’re not holdin’ your breath when you shoot. And don’t close your eyes.”

“I’m not closing my eyes; you’re making it difficult to concentrate.”

He smiles and she feels it even though she can’t see him. “Am I?” Beth glances at him as he nods his head, motioning for her to shoot, “Little higher.”

She lifts the gun just slightly and pulls the trigger, hitting the target two more times. The last shot isn’t as centered but she’s pleased, the recognition that her aiming can get better with actual practice filling her warmly as she lowers her gun. She hates to admit that she likes seeing that look on Rio, like he’s impressed with what she’s done—that she somehow needs his approval. And maybe in a warped way, she kind of does, despite the fact that she’s done so much _without_ him.

Maybe ‘need’ isn’t the right word, maybe Beth _wants_ his approval because it feels like a soft step in the right direction.

Rio motions for her to keep going, to keep practicing since they have the time, “Maybe next time you won’t miss.”

Beth licks her lips, holding his gun up to aim at the target again, a dangerous promise somehow wrapped in the double-meaning of his words. Maybe she’s just imagining that he wants an equal adversary and it’s all about building their bridges from the ground up—

But she’s not about to ask as she fires the gun again, landing a bullet in the center of the tree.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and for any kudos or comments you leave behind xo


End file.
